


Tatterdemalion

by letsgobacktoMidnight



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dead Man Walking, Death, F/M, First Meetings, McCree has a hole in his chest, Necromancer Sombra, Necromancy, One Shot, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12284124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgobacktoMidnight/pseuds/letsgobacktoMidnight
Summary: Slowly, he reaches for the hole that should be ripping open his chest to the world, but only finds his vest ripped and torn. Blood, still wet, clings to his shirt. An empty spot fills him somewhere between his rib cage, but he can’t feel the pain.





	Tatterdemalion

It was black, before the darkness seeped away to a dark, heavy gray. He blinks, and feels the pressure of a thousand clouds hiding the starry sky.

He was shot.

Slowly, he reaches for the hole that should be ripping open his chest to the world, but only finds his vest ripped and torn. Blood, still wet, clings to his shirt. An empty spot fills him somewhere between his rib cage, but he can’t feel the pain.

“Slowly,  _ vaquero _ .” A voice moves in the dirt ditch with him, and he flinches at how the words are nearly whispered into his ear. “Rise slowly.”

He breathes out mist into the autumn night, before sitting up at a pace the voice spoke of. The air is heavy with water, rain is drizzling on his coat. On reflex, his hand touches his hair, but the absent of his hat is the least of his worries. Turning his head, he finds a woman sitting on the edge of the road, bare feet pressed into the dirt of the ditch. Olive skin with eyes the color of violet, he exhales at the sight of a witch so close.

“I’d take it one step at a time,” her voice singsongs as he jumps to his feet, grasping at his empty holster. “It can be pretty disorienting.”

He parts his lips, inhaling to breathe out his demands of her surrender but it’s caught in his throat. An unearthly smiles dances on her lips as she looks from under the brim of his hat. Behind her, four bodies stand, all in different forms of slumped and unbalanced. They look drunk, but even intoxicated they should be attacking the witch. It’s not a simple one on one fight anymore.

“When you get to town, you should get new cloths. Someone might call you a zombie looking all ragged and disreputable.” She stands, tilting his hat to hide her eyes as she turns to face the nearly lifeless men.

Blinking, the heavy clouds provided little light but his eyes have adjusted. The men looming at the very same he shot dead before the other goons could get him. Four bodies that stand stiffly and with half opened eyes and clumsy limbs.

Reanimated corpses.

He grasps at his chest, pressing wet blood against his palm but feeling no heartbeat, only silent echoes of his lungs. The moment after the gold tooth man pulled the trigger, he didn’t feel any pain, only momentary darkness. This would should be killing him, making him writhe in pain and unable to function.

But he stands just as easily as the dead men at the woman’s back.

“Necromancer.” He accuses, and she faces him with a devilish smile.

“You’re one of the only few to not call me a witch. Though, I do dabble in black magic, finding puppets is my craft.” She takes the chin of one of the dead men, squishing pale cheeks with a playful shake. “They never last long enough.”

His own breathing stills as he stumbles in the ditch. On one knee, he grasps at his sternum. Finding the one spot where there is no protest as his knuckle presses against it, a cold numb slowly takes his mind. A hole, the bullet line from when he was killed. It still rests in his body, alongside his dead heart.

His heart does not beat.

“What… why am I not like them?” He speaks to the dirt, still holding his chest where his heart should beat. Footsteps cross the dirt before kneeling beside him. A fingernail touches his jaw, moving him to look up at the women’s half shaved head.

“You’re reanimated completely. My magic is keeping you from decaying and being just like them,” her hand waves back to her controlled corpses. They don’t move, they don’t breathe, completely indifferent to them.

He sweeps the grounds for his weapon, but her finger taps his cheek, bringing his attention back to the unnatural irises surrounding her pupils.

“You can try and kill me,  _ vaquero _ , but my magic will die with me. You’ll be a corpse, and only that.” Her threat, and warning.

He can’t even clean the land of the darkness possessing it. Dead, and useless.

He swallows, slowly getting out of the ditch and rising alongside the woman. Her gaze watches him carefully, eyes glinting as the reanimated corpses shuffle forward at one move of her finger. He flinches at the holes lining their chests and foreheads, but the woman only touches the brim of his hat lying upon her hair.

A gang of men jumped him as he traveled down a dirt road, heading to the next city. At least he shot some of the men in return. It wasn’t enough. By the time he was on the ground, bloody and beaten, and his money taken, the lead crook stood above him. A gold tooth shining in the stormy night.

“You should be thanking us,  _ vaquero, _ ” the man’s grin as ugly as his dirty face. “You could have been a witch’s puppet. This is a mercy killing.”

“Why am I alive then, necromancer?” He still clutches at his chest, but makes his hand fall to his side. The blood is eerily cold against his skin, and he wants nothing but to shred his clothes for new ones entirely.

“It’s good to have friends,” she speaks, taking his hat into her hands. “Especially those still breathing.”

She offers it to him. A smile that could please the devil dances on her cheeks, but malice doesn’t hide in her eyes. The energy coming off her skin is strong, anyone with any sense can see she’s something otherworldly, but he takes the hat from her hands. Steadily, he places it back on his head, and holds the necromancer’s gaze.

“Alright,  _ partner _ ,” he breathes out, glancing at the other dead men. “When I finish this favor, am I just another puppet?”

She muses dangerously for a moment, fixing a bloody tie on the closest corpse. When it’s jaw moves at the slight motion, a gold tooth flashes up at him.

“Not if you do well for me.” She steps closer, suddenly trailing a nail down the front of his shirt. He doesn’t hold back, but feels the warmth of her hand.

“You look more handsome alive then dead.”

Turning away, she flicks her hand, and the small horde of undead begin to shuffle after their commandant. Slow, stiff bodies that could have easily have been him. Blood still trickles down the front of his shirt, but the hole in his body has his attention.

“Go to town,  _ vaquero. _ I’ll call you when I need you.” The necromancer speaks over her shoulder. With a wave of her hand, dark shadows seem to swallow up the road in the direction she and her minions walk on. In seconds, it clears, and the necromancer is gone.

Pressing a hand to his still heart, he turns away from the irises that are now imprinted into his skull. Slow breaths leave his cold body as he continues down the road. 

**Author's Note:**

> A little Halloween one shot for the OTP! Please R & R!


End file.
